Shaken, and Stirred.

Last night, I made dinner for the other two members of the Unholy Triumvirate. In preparation for their Ph.D. comps, I fed them brain food. Spinach salad with blood oranges, goat cheese, and almonds, grilled wild salmon with brown rice and curry sauce, and several glasses of wine to help them sleep. I sent them off well fed and hopefully a little less stressed about their written exams, which are today and tomorrow.

So, slightly tipsy I sat down at my computer, where I came across something that left me rattled and sad. In one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have read in a long time, my friend said goodbye to graduate school. He entered the program at the same time I did, in the same area— one of only a handful of eighteenth century graduate students. Despite the fact that we entered at the same time, he was two years ahead of me in the program, having already received his M.A. elsewhere. We have read together, taken classes together, and gossiped together. He is a true intellectual, who came to graduate school later in life with a real passion for his work and ideas. He is intimidatingly well read. He is, in my mind, what a graduate student should be.

And now, he too is leaving. And I shouldn't care. After all, I am leaving.

But I do.